My Slice of Peru

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What's this blog about?

When I told my next door neighbor in May of 2008 that I was going to sell the house along with all of my personal possessions and move to Chiclayo Peru with my Peruvian wife, his response was..” That’s a path not many men walk.” I had that impression as well, but have since learned that many men and women have walked and continue to walk that path. There is a large expatriate community in Lima and a significant number of gringos scattered about the remainder of the country from the larger coastal cities to the smallest jungle villages. Many of them have personal blogs in which they offer travel advice, news, and a wealth of other information along with their individual experiences. The purpose of this blog is not so far reaching. My intent is simply to record my experiences and observations for family, friends and anyone else who may be interested, but mostly for myself. Peru is to me a musical, magical land and I’ve found that writing about it helps me to preserve the beauty I experience as I explore this enchanting country. Anyway, thanks for visiting my site. Feel free to come back again, and leave a comment if you’d care to or send an email to me at kaetan1@gmail.com.

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Monday, May 7, 2018

We’ve been away from Peru for almost a year, yet I still
have flashbacks that are so vivid that it seems like yesterday. I can clearly
picture the combi station in Tucume, and us getting on the combi after visiting
a pronoei in some desert village. During the ride back to our home in Chiclayo
we would talk about the people and our thoughts, and what I should write about
them on our webpage. Most times it took a few hours of wracking our brains to
come up with what we wanted to say. Occasionally the post would write itself in
my head on the combi. All I had to do was type it when we got back.

Yesterday while cutting the grass an idea for a short story
popped into my head all by itself. And not just the idea…while I was mowing it
was writing itself. I like to write. Most times when I have an idea it takes me
a couple of days to finish it. Then I save it in a temporary file, and in a
month or so delete it. The story that follows took about an hour to type. Like
I said, it pretty much wrote itself. Some of it is fiction, some not. I’ll
leave it to you to figure it out.

Her name was Candy…Candy Barr. That was probably her stage
name. I never did know her real name. Doesn’t make any difference. A name is no
big thing. You need a name to vote, get a driver’s license and receive social
security payments. You need a name to put on your grave marker. It goes
slightly above or below ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’, depending on your
preference, or more likely the preference of whoever has the responsibility for
putting you in the hole. You also need a name to make a medical appointment,
though that’s not the first thing you need.Let me shed some light on that.

Shortly after moving back to the states from Peru I called
a medical clinic to set up an appointment to meet a doctor for a get-acquainted
visit. Using my best friendly telephone voice I explained to the woman that we
had just moved into the area and wanted to arrange for a family doctor. I was
prepared to hear; welcome, how do you like the area, what brought you here, and
thanks for calling our clinic. She didn’t say any of that. Instead she asked,
“What insurance do you have?” I was speechless. In the old days I would have
said flabbergasted. I’ll tell you straight; she flat-out pissed me off. I had
visions of a sterile white office with white plastic furniture and white plastic
peoplebots. After a moment I said, “That’s
the first thing you say to me…what insurance do I have?” She replied matter of
factly that the information was necessary to determine if the clinic would
accept us as patients. I told her that while she was evaluating me I was also evaluating
her clinic and decided it was not acceptable. I hung up. I wonder what old doc
Curtain would have thought of today’s health industry. He’s the doc that
brought me into this world. If one of us kids had a fever or some other problem
that wouldn’t go away, a call to him would have him at our house day or night.
In he would come with his black doctor bag and grandpa bedside manner. After he
was finished I would hear my dad ask if it was okay to pay half now and the
rest next week. We and the country were still recovering from the Great Depression.
He never said no.

The first time I saw Candy was in a Wisconsin Northwoods
tavern during deer season. This would have been about 1962 or so. There were
always a few tavern owners that hired strippers for the nine-day season to get
as many hunters as possible into their bar at night. Lin, John and I were
seated at a table not far from the make-shift stage where Candy was doing her
routine accompanied by the stripper’s national anthem, “If you want it here it
is, come and get it…” We were talking about the new rifle John had brought to
camp. It was a Browning .30-06 BAR camelback model. I didn’t like it but
wouldn’t say that to John, who had spent a bundle on his new pride and joy.
Anyway, we suddenly heard Candy say in a loud voice, “It seems to me that the
boys at that table (ours) might rather see a man up here taking off his clothes.” I just laughed and so did
John, but Lin, never one to take an insult said, “Well, perhaps if you would
come up with something more creative than the same old bumps and grinds we
would show some interest.” Some guys at another table took exception to Lin’s
comment. A big beefy guy shouted that Lin should apologize to the lady. The
situation had all the makings of a brouhaha.

Fights were not uncommon during deer season in taverns in
those days. Many bartenders had a bat behind the bar to try to keep order with.
Often the cause was about shooting a doe. If I remember correctly a camp with a
minimum of four hunters could apply for a permit to shoot a doe for the purpose
of ‘camp meat.’ Old timers believed you were hurting the deer population by
shooting does, despite what the young whippersnappers in the Conservation Department
were saying. Our camp always got a permit. We always shot a doe. Venison is
venison in my book.

Another fight-starter was different opinions about the best
caliber for hunting. Shortly after the Korean War was over the military dumped
a lot of .30 caliber carbines on the market. Most hunters thought the gun
should be outlawed for hunting because it wasn’t powerful enough. I agreed with
that. I didn’t like that rifle. To me a guy was better off with a Red Ryder BB
gun. Sure, it was easy to carry, being short and light. Officers liked it. It
was standard issue to all support units. Support units were ordinance
companies, headquarters companies and all the other REMF’s (rear echelon mother
f_ _ _ _ _ _). The rest of us carried the M1 Garand. That was a rifle. It
weighed 9 ½ pounds, was 43 ½ inches long and .30-06 caliber. It took care of
business. It was eventually replaced by the M14, the only differences being a
built-in flash deflector, and magazine instead of clip fed. But you don’t care
about that.

So Lin shouts back to Mr. ‘Boca Grande’ that he should keep
his opinion to hisself. So the guy stands up, inhaling as much air into his
lungs as possible to expand his chest and make himself look more threatening.
You know, there ain’t much difference between us and male birds and animals. So
Lin stands up, but he don’t have to inhale to look threatening. He stands 6’3”,
weighs 235 and is built like a fire plug. The other guy can see that. What he
can’t see is that Lin can hit with either hand harder than a mule kicks. He can
lift the state of Rhode Island. And he loves to fight; something his
mild-mannered parents could never understand.

As both guys start walking toward each other the guys at
his table stand up. Me and John got no choice but to back Lin’s play and stand
up, and I’m thinking here we go. The bartender starts yelling that everybody
should relax, but it was Candy who defused the situation. She shouted out,
“Boys, sit down! Ain’t nobody insulted no one!” That big voice coming out of
that little bitty body took everyone by surprise. We all sat down, but not
without making our most fierce expressions at each other. Candy resumed her
routine, we applauded, pounded on the table and wolf-whistled, and everyone was
happy.

Later, after the place had emptied out some and Candy had
changed into regular clothing and had taken a seat at the bar I bought her a
drink. I told her I was impressed with what she did and asked if she had
experience with that sort of situation. I don’t remember what she said. The
rest of the conversation was your normal small talk until she started telling
about her personal life. She lived in Milwaukee, was divorced, and worked as a
clerk in the jewelry section at Gimbels Department store. She said each deer
season she worked a gig as a stripper, because it added something different and
sort of exciting to what she said was a dull life. Before you know it I was
telling her about myself, and it felt like we were becoming friends. Now don’t
go reading anything into that. She was attractive but I was more interested in
who she was than anything else.

A couple nights later we were back at the bar. So far,
except for the camp deer none of us had shot a buck, and with only one day
remaining the odds of getting a deer were slim. So we talked about what we
would do different next year. Later, Candy and I talked a bit but I guess we
had said all there was to say previously. As we parted she said, “See ya next
year” and I said, “Let me know where you’ll be working”, each of us knowing
that we had not exchanged contact information so that couldn’t happen.

A few years later I was at Milwaukee’s Southgate Mall
when I heard someone behind me shout out, “Hey!” I turned around and there was
Candy. With her was a boy of about 10 years. She had forgotten my name, and I
thought it would be prudent not to call her Candy in front of the boy. She
asked how I was doing, and volunteered that she was happily married to a great
guy, was still at Gimbels, and had "stopped making trips up north.” I told her
I wouldn’t have seen her anyway because the guys in our camp had sort of
drifted apart two years ago.

It sounded like Candy was happy with her life. I was glad
for her. We said our goodbyes. I never saw her again.

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

I did the research. I looked at all the factors you would
normally look at when contemplating a move to a different region of the country
(in our case, a different country). I looked at taxes, cost-of-living, population,
entertainment opportunities, geography, crime rate, ease of access to hospitals,
airports and other major cities, and climate. All of the information we gathered
kept pointing to the Chattanooga area. Climate was a biggie for us. Having
lived in the heat of Northern Peru for the last ten years, we did not want to
return to Wisconsin or any other cold weather state.

Using Google Map I ‘walked’ the streets in December. People
were walking downtown in light jackets. Others were in shorts and t-shirts.
Weather averages for January in Chattanooga are 49 high and 24 low. I’m
thinking that’s perfect…we’ve got it made.

Do you know what the temperature is forecasted to be
tonight? Nine. That’s right…nine. All day the radio has been announcing school
and business closings for tomorrow. That’s not what we signed up for. Granted,
in Wisconsin, Minnesota, etc. where we don’t start paying attention until it
gets to -20 or so, nine would be nothing. But we didn’t anticipate having to
buy snow parkas, wool hats and gloves. Georgia doesn’t show that in their
tourist promotional advertising. They show southern belles in peach colored
dresses strolling on a promenade.

City planners…in fact the entire metro area was not
designed with temperatures of nine in mind. Earlier this month we had another
cold front move through. A water main froze and broke in downtown Chattanooga.
Television broadcasters kept advising people to let their faucets run slightly
to prevent freezing. I didn’t pay attention to that, regarding it as being
overly cautious. As I recall it was only going to get down to 16. The plumber
bill was $95.00. Houses are not insulated to deal with a temperature of nine. And
based on my experience neither are many of the small businesses. Oh well, I’ll
probably be complaining when it’s in the upper 90s as I did last July.

And speaking of complaining, as long as I’m on a rant, let
me comment about driving. The salesman who sold us our car said, “Let me
caution you. Tennesseans are terrible drivers”. Those were his words, not mine.
Was he ever right! In 60 years of driving my rule of thumb has been speed limit
+5, unless I’m in a school or construction zone. It has been my observation
that the standard practice here is speed limit minus 5 to 15. And there seems
to be an obligation to constantly vary the speed. I have seen bumper stickers here that say, “The closer you get the slower I drive”. It is difficult for me to
imagine how one could drive slower without stopping.

I am not talking about an
occasional driver. I am flat-out saying that it is the majority. I saw this same
thing in New England in states like New Hampshire and Vermont. Maybe the cause
is all the hills in those states and here in Tennessee and Georgia. Whatever it
is, it sure is annoying. I would love to see some of these folks drive through
Chicago during rush hour. They would probably get so rattled they would never drive
again.

Okay…no more ranting. Despite the unplanned for cold and
puzzling driving, we’re very happy with our choice. The greater Chattanooga
area has a lot going for it and is a good place to live.

During the year 2017 Promesa Peru took part in nine activities. They were:

MonthActivityExpense

April Los Bances pronoei $507.87

May Carrizo Bajo pronoei 538.14

May Huaca Quemada pronoei 532.48

May El Carrizo pronoei 61.12

June La Carpa Casinelli pronoei 393.29

June Magali training 38.17

June Huaca de Toro pronoei 490.00

July Paredones San Juan 920.00

November El Cerezo pronoei 788.65

December Caspe pronoei* 29.26

Total expenses $4,369.73

* - The Caspe pronoei is in the Monsefu District. There are 60 families living in Caspe, and only 9 students in the pronoei. The money donated by Promesa Peru contributed to the village's chocolatada, and also served to close our books in preparation for discontinuing our activities.

Donations

SourceAmount

Public donations $4005.70

Other donations 00.00

Beginning balance 364.03

Total funds available $4,369.73

Total expenses 4,369.73

Ending balance $00.00

##############

It is with a twinge of sadness that we publish this final financial report. Both Maribel and me miss our Promesa Peru activity much more than we anticipated. We wish we could have found a way to keep it operating. Our thanks to everyone who contributed over the years to the success of Promesa Peru.

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Sometime around July of this year, shortly after we moved
to Rossville from Chiclayo, Peru I damaged my right knee. I can’t associate it
with any specific event. It just, one day started hurting. I ignored it for
several weeks, until the pain became more frequent and severe. When it became
obvious it wasn’t going to improve, I did one of my least favorite things to do;
made a doctor appointment. The diagnosis is a partially torn meniscus. The
course of treatment is leg exercises, ibuprofen and to stay off of it as much
as possible.

During that doctor visit I wondered out loud what the
diagnosis and treatment would have been in Chiclayo. I’m positive that one of
the medicines would have been a salve or ointment of some sort, either a
commercial product or a homemade concoction. Chiclayonos are big on ointments
for whatever ails you. I mentioned several other examples of Peruvian health
care practices that the doctor had probably not come across in medical school.
For chronic pain that is not responding to usual remedies, one might contract
with a bruja (male witch) to make a house call. Often as part of the treatment
the bruja will place a live cuy (guinea pig) on the affected location, and let
it run in the area, which somehow transfers the cause of the pain to the cuy.
The bruja usually eats the cuy in imitation of his Incan ancestors, who ate
tons of the little buggers. All such treatments are taken seriously by the
population. If a treatment doesn’t work it is because something else is
interfering.

When the doctor laughed I surprisingly found myself feeling
defensive. That’s when I told him about what I call the yellow rock. It’s
actually a hard cylinder of sulphur. It is sold as a pain reliever in
pharmacies and many corner grocery stores. My first experience with it was
during my initial visit to Chiclayo, when I developed a severe headache. I
suggested to Maribel that we walk to a pharmacy for aspirin when instead she produced
the yellow rock from a kitchen drawer. When she began rubbing the rock on my
temple I immediately heard a crackling sound, like paper being crushed. Within
minutes the headache was gone.

I am a skeptic. My mantra is, “Show me proof”. My
conclusion about the rock and headache was that it was simply coincidence. The
second time that exact scenario happened several week later, I again said
coincidence, but this time not so loud.

I mentioned earlier that Chiclayonos have a penchant for
ointments as a medical treatment. As I think about it, that is no different
than the dozens of ointments sold in the ‘health stores’ all over the USA. And to my knowledge
99% of all of their products carry the mandatory disclaimer that essentially
says…’this product has not been government evaluated and has not been proven to
cure anything or have any healthful affects at all’. So basically they are no
more legitimate than the sulphur cylinder of the guinea-pig-on-the-back
treatments.

Whenever I get involved in a discussion about health supplements,
the ‘believers’ usually end up saying, “Well, there may be no scientific proof,
but I know my body and these
supplements work”. Given that line of thinking, isn’t it just as valid for a
Chiclayono to say that they know their bodies and the guinea pig treatment
works? Or for me to say that the sulphur cylinder works?

Okay, back to my
knee. This week after examining my knee, the doctor concluded that the conservative
treatment approach did not work. In two more weeks I will see an orthopedic surgeon
in preparation for arthroscopic surgery. I really don’t like that but it sounds
like there is no option. Well…maybe there is. Before I go under the knife I’m
going to a pet store to buy a guinea pig. I’ll let it run around on my knee for
a while. It can’t hurt, unless it bites me, and whether it works or not, we’ve
got dinner.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

It’s cold in Rossville, Georgia. Well, I mean not Wisconsin
cold, but 24 night and 42 day feels cold. Maybe those 10 years I spent in
Chiclayo Peru has lowered my tolerance for cold.

And speaking of Peru, that’s where Maribel is now. She
wanted to spend the holidays and her father’s birthday with her family. I wasn’t
ready to return to Peru. Not enough time has elapsed. If I went back now it
would feel as if I had never left. I wouldn’t appreciate it. It’s kind of an -
absence makes the heart grow fonder, if that makes sense. So Maribel is in Peru
with family and I’m alone. That’s not all bad.

I am in a situation where I can completely ignore
Christmas. If Maribel were here I would have to deal with a tree, lights,
decorations, cards and that interminable Christmas music. It is a
scientifically proven fact that having to listen to ‘Have a Holly Jolly
Christmas’ more than 30 times per day is the leading cause of tonsiloptis of
the blow hole. And of course everyone knows that listening to Johnny Cash’s or
Neil Diamond’s versions of ‘Little Drummer Boy’ results in instant insanity.

Another advantage is that I didn’t have to wait until
midnight to eat Christmas dinner. That has been the tradition in Peru for
years. Probably no one knows why anymore. Turkey is the traditional main
course. The turkey is covered with a marinate that has also come down through
the years. I am confounded as to why. To me that marinate ruins a perfectly
good gobbler.

I didn’t have turkey for Christmas. I went to a local
grocery store and cruised the aisles hoping that something would jump out at
me. In the checkout line my basket contained a 4 ½ lb fresh chicken, a package
of instant mashed potatoes and a can of cranberries. The woman in front of me
had much more. She dropped some of it on the floor. As I was helping her pick
it up she remarked that her family had insisted that she make her famous gumbo
tonight to “take off the chill”. Now, I don’t know gumbo from shoe polish but
to make conversation I remarked that it was indeed a good night for gumbo, and
then as an afterthought jokingly asked, “Where did you say you live”?

That woman reacted to my comment as if it was the funniest
thing she had ever heard. Then she used it as a segue to talk about her gumbo,
in a volume intended to be heard by everyone in line. I was on my way out of
the store when I heard a loud voice behind me say, “Now don’t you let me see
you following me to my car, ha ha”! I replied without turning, “Then don’t look.”
There was much laughter.

Monday, November 13, 2017

The temple of Ventarron has been in existence for over 4,500 years. It was discovered about 15 years ago and has been actively excavated since that day. Two days ago the site was completely destroyed by fire including what is thought to be the oldest mural in the Americas. The fire was caused by employees of a sugar cane company who had set fire to nearby fields to burn sugar cane stubble. The fire quickly spread, engulfing the entire archaeological site. Everything was lost including records of the excavation which were kept on site.

More than one-half million US dollars had been earmarked for the protection and excavation of Ventarron and the nearby archaeological site of Collud. It is unknown how much of that money was spent. There was no reported damage to Collud.

Maribel and I would often visit Ventarron to watch the progress of the excavation. We could reach the site from our home in just 20 minutes.

This is the mural that was destroyed. It is thought to be more than 2000 years old. The colors were much more vivid than in this photo.

This photo shows an artist's rendition of what the temple looked like based on measurements taken by noted Peruvian archaeologist Walter Alva. Authorities in Lima have dispatched investigators to Ventarron to determine if the sugar company is responsible. The outcome of that investigation won't change anything. The remains of one of the oldest and grandest temples in the Americas is lost. What a shame.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

After seven years of supporting education through classroom
furnishings and school supplies in Peru’s Lambayeque Region, the board members
of Promesa Peru have decided to close the doors. Factors leading to this
decision were excessive demands for Magali’s time, who is Maribel’s sister and the
Promesa Peru representative in the region, and the difficulty of administering school projects remotely from the USA.

One example of administrative difficulty is that we have
just now gotten the final cost numbers for the village of El Cerezo, a project
completed October 10. The delay was no one’s fault...simply a result of a more
complex system. The cost figures for that project were:

1 whiteboard - $52.45

Markers and erasers - $7.71

3 tables - $83.31

15 chairs - $231.41

2 storage shelves - $52.45

17 books and puzzles - $68.19

17 pairs of shoes - $166.62

Magali’s time - $61.71

Transport - $64.79

Total - $788.65

As of this writing Promesa Peru has $29.26 in its bank
account. The money will be turned over to Magali to be used for a chocolatada
(Christmas party) at a Chiclayo school of her choice. We will be publishing a
complete financial report for the year 2017 when all the numbers have been
crunched.

There have been many donors during these past seven years.
We cannot possibly thank them all but do want to recognize in particular Chris Raupe, Clif Brown, Denny Wallette,
and especially The Alice Cool Foundation who never failed to bail us out when
money was tight.

This is a sad day for us, but we do have the satisfaction
of knowing that we have helped dozens of schools and hundreds of students, and
that there are people like those mentioned above who care about the future of a
little boy or girl in a poor desert village in Peru.